


The Wasp

by emotionalpanda



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: Bickering, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25657021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalpanda/pseuds/emotionalpanda
Summary: Frankie wakes Grace up with the news: there’s a wasp in their kitchen.Set somewhere around season 1 or 2 maybe?
Relationships: Frankie Bergstein/Grace Hanson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	The Wasp

**Author's Note:**

> first grace and frankie fic! i just love them too much

“Grace... Graaace... Grace!”

Grace woke up to the feeling of Frankie shaking her shoulders. She had been having a pleasant dream: one where her life hadn’t been turned upside down by a team of gay lawyers. She groaned.

“What? What is it this time?”

“There’s a wasp in the house.” Frankie said, fear in her voice.

“Very funny, Frankie. I’m right here. I’m not a threat. “ Grace muttered as she got out of bed.

Frankie sighed, “You know what I mean. The yellow one. With a knife on its ass. They sing like this: Bzzzzzzzz”

Frankie flapped her arms to imitate wings as she continued making buzzing noises.

“Oh, would you stop it. It’s one wasp, just leave it alone.” Grace snapped.

So what if there was a wasp? There was only one, according to Frankie’s report, and one wasp wasn’t going to stop Grace from going about her day.

“It’s hovering near the vodka, Grace.”

Oh. Well that was going to pose a problem.

“But there’s no fruit in vodka, why is it going after the vodka? It’s made of potatoes for christ’s sake!”

“Grace, potatoes are a delicious root vegetable. Surely the wasps can agree,” Frankie started rummaging around Grace’s belongings, searching for something.

Grace watched Frankie’s hands sifting through her drawers of accessories. Frankie was making a mess of Grace’s prized jewelry and beloved trinkets.

“What the hell are you doing now?” Grace stomped over to where Frankie was standing.

Frankie picked up a few rings and slid them onto her fingers. She held her hand up to admire the look of them. “These are pretty. Did Robert give you these?”

Grace huffed, “Take them off. They’re mine.” Grace stared at Frankie, waiting for her to follow the order.

Frankie frowned, “You’re no fun.” She took the rings off. “I’m looking for a home.”

Grace paused, baffled. “You’re what?”

“I’m looking for a home.” Frankie stated, not giving anymore details.

“Frankie, you already have a home. You’re stuck here with me. I know it’s not ideal, but—“

Frankie shook her head and interrupted Grace, “Not for me. For her.”

Grace looked at Frankie as if she was crazy, “Her?”

“The wasp. She’s a lone traveler. She needs my help.” Frankie checked another drawer. “Do you have any jars with lids?”

“She? Frankie, it’s a wasp.” Grace said, “We have jars in the kitchen, but I’m not jarring a wasp. It’s not a jam, Frankie.”

“She could be the queen!” 

* * *

And so Grace found herself, kneeling, on her bad knees, behind a table next to Frankie. They had opened two doors and two windows, at Frankie’s request. Of all the ways to start her day, it had to be this one. She had only been living with Frankie for less than a year, but she was already one of the most interesting roommates she’d ever had. Not that Grace had much experience with roommates. 

Every day with Frankie was something new. Grace had to admit that Frankie made her life much more exciting than it had been with Robert. If she got drunk enough, and someone caught her having a good day, Grace might have even admitted that she enjoyed life with Frankie. 

Frankie nudged her and pointed to a corner of the kitchen, “There’s Wilma. She moved to the gin. Must be going on a bender.” Frankie laughed at her own joke.

“Wilma? Really? You named the wasp? Is that really necessary?” 

“All things deserve dignity, Grace. Even ones with stingers.” 

Grace rolled her eyes, “If you want to love the wasp so badly, why don’t you go over there and give it a hug?” 

Frankie shook her head, “No, no. That’s not their love language. They crave freedom and fermented peaches. And I don’t have a peach guy.” 

Grace moved to get up. Her knees ached from all the kneeling, so getting up was a struggle. She put her hand on Frankie’s shoulder to use like a railing. 

“I’ve had enough.” Grace declared, shifting her posture to a more confident pose, “It’s Wilma’s time to leave.” 

“No! Grace, don’t sacrifice yourself! It’s her kitchen now! We don’t need her kitchen to sustain us; there’s berries to forage!” 

“Frankie. Enough.” Grace looked back to Frankie before making her way to the kitchen. Grace was afraid of wasps, too, but she was no coward, and one bug in her kitchen was not going to ruin her day. 

The wasp was back on her vodka bottle, which really annoyed Grace, as it was perched on top of the screw top. It would be impossible to make herself a nice, dry martini without removing the wasp first.

She decided on one of the most controversial tactics: shooing it away.

“Get out!” Grace swung her arms at the wasp, “Get out of our home!” 

The wasp buzzed like a quiet lawnmower, daring Grace to swing again. 

Grace, of course, swung again. 

The wasp landed on her arm and dug its stinger into her skin. She yelped at the sharp, sudden pain.

“Ow! What the hell!” Grace yelled.

“You angered her, Grace.” Frankie replied from her spot behind the table. 

The wasp zipped past Frankie and left through one of the open doors. Frankie sighed in relief, “Wilma has continued her journey elsewhere.” 

Frankie got up and winced at the way her joints ached. “Where’d she sting you? Let me look.” She hobbled over to Grace and started examining her. 

“My arm. I can already tell it’s going to itch like hell.” Grace whined. 

“There’s no stinger. That’s good. I’ll go get you a benadryl. You’ll be too tired to feel the effects of Wilma’s wrath.” 

* * *

Within a half hour, Grace fell into a state of drowsiness, slumped over on the couch. 

Frankie smiled. “There she goes. Night night, sweetie.” She draped a blanket over the sleeping Grace and leaned in to gently kiss her forehead.

“You’re my hero.” She whispered, and tucked the blanket in on Grace’s sides. “You saved me.”

As she walked away from the sleeping Grace, Frankie started whisper singing: 

_ “Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the Wilmas...sting.” _


End file.
